


Idiot-Proof

by Good_News_Everyone



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Eggsy is a bartender, Flirting, Harry is a Little Shit, Harry is still a Kingsman, Innuendo, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Harry, The secret language of shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-05-22 19:46:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6092020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Good_News_Everyone/pseuds/Good_News_Everyone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Bartender’s motto,’ said Eggsy cheerfully. ‘Quickest way to a man’s heart is through his liver.'<br/>In Harry’s line of work the quickest way to a man’s heart was usually between the ribs just left of his sternum, but he felt it would be impolitic to mention this just now.</p>
<p>Four drinks that Eggsy made for Harry and one Harry made for Eggsy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One (vodka, sloe gin, Southern Comfort, orange juice and Galliano)

**Author's Note:**

> It’s one month to exams, and that means it’s procrastiwriting time! (hahaha I am so screwed)

~

 

It really was deplorable, Harry thought as he straightened his singed cuffs, how singularly unimaginative criminal masterminds were becoming these days. The whole world to choose from, and every psychopath with an explosive point to make inevitably wound up in New York, Tokyo, or - as in this case - London. Just once, he wished they’d choose somewhere unexpected. Florence, perhaps. He rather liked Florence.

Merlin was still screaming tinnily at him through his glasses, something about _tact, Galahad_ and _finesse, Galahad_ and _the highest levels of discretion, Galahad, you utter sodding **twat**_ mixed in with a long stream of creative obscenities. Harry casually switched off the feed, cutting the man off mid-rant. Honestly, if he’d wanted to listen to an hour of angry Scottish swearing he’d have stayed home and watched Malcolm Tucker.

Still, for all that he thought that the quartermaster was overreacting – the West End was only the _tiniest_ bit on fire, after all – a small gaggle of gawkers was already beginning to gather, phones out, and while Harry was certain none of the terrorists he’d left behind would be in a fit state to identify him any time soon, plausible deniability _was_ much easier when one’s face wasn’t plastered across social media in the background of a thousand selfies. He cut smoothly through the crowd as the clamour of approaching sirens grew louder, sidestepping distracted tourists and gawping teens, turned swiftly down a narrow, shadowy side street, and ducked into the closest shopfront just as the first fire engine pulled up.

‘….C’n I help you?’ said a young, male voice, and Harry blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, registering in turn the somewhat dingy establishment, the array of colourful bottles lining the walls, and the blond young man in a black bartender’s vest eyeing him slightly askance.

Kingsman policy was, strictly speaking, for agents to report to the estate for debriefing immediately post-mission. But the sirens were still blaring at full volume outside and besides, Harry wasn’t particularly anxious to hurry back and receive his inevitable tongue-lashing. Arthur always blew little things like ‘excessive use of hand grenades’ out of all proportion.

‘Martini,’ Harry said crisply, stepping up to the bar. ‘Gin, not vodka, obviously, stirred for ten seconds while glancing at an _unopened_ bottle of vermouth, thank you.’

The bartender – _Gary_ , his name tag read, though it didn’t seem to suit him somehow – blinked at Harry. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s definitely got t’ be the most particular drink order I’ve gotten today. A man of fixed habits, eh?’

The younger man clearly hadn’t meant it as a dig – he was already reaching for the bottle of Beefeaters – but his casual quip jarred Harry slightly, recalling his earlier thoughts.

‘Something else, then,’ he said, and then, impulsively, ‘Bartender’s choice.’

Gary paused and turned back towards him, blue eyes quizzical.

‘You sure?’ he inquired. ‘I can mix you up a martini quick as, no problem-’

‘Yes,’ said Harry decisively. ‘As it happens, I was just lamenting to myself how set in their ways the people that I….work with have become lately, and it would be hypocritical of me to disparage their habits while sticking rigidly to my own, wouldn’t it? And what better place than a cocktail bar to, ah, shake things up a little.’ He smiled a little self-deprecatingly at the pun.

‘Well, all right then,’ grinned the boy, leaning back on his elbows. His eyes flicked over Harry, taking in the tired lines around his eyes, the bespoke but creased suit, and the stray curls of hair escaping from his severe side-parting.  ‘Long day?’

‘Very much so,’ Harry agreed.

The boy hummed to himself for a moment then spun around, grabbing a highball glass and a couple of bottles. He scooped ice into the glass, deftly splashed a shot from each bottle over the ice, then ducked underneath the bar for a bottle of orange juice and filled the glass almost to the brim, topping it off with a yellow liqueur that Harry didn’t recognise.

‘Go on then, give it a try,' he said, a spark of mischief in his eyes as he slid the glass across the counter to Harry. ‘I’ve found one o’ these is a pretty good pick-me-up after a rough shift.’

Harry raised an eyebrow dubiously, but took a cautious sip. It was sweet – sweeter than he usually liked his drinks – but the flavours blended pleasantly together, hints of vanilla and whisky overlaid with the sharper notes of citrus.

‘Good?’ said the young man, raising an eyebrow to mirror Harry's.

‘Excellent,’ Harry said sincerely, somewhat to his own surprise. He pulled out his wallet. ‘How much do I…?’

‘On the house,’ the boy said, waving away the bills.

‘That really isn’t necessary,’ Harry said. ‘I must insist, Gary-‘

‘Call me Eggsy, everybody does,’ the boy said, crossing his arms on the bar and leaning forwards. ‘Listen, mate. In about an hour those doors are gonna open, an’ I’m gonna be making Old Fashioned after Old Fashioned for city arseholes who think they’re the next Don Draper and Cosmos beyond countin’ for birds who still ain’t over Sex and the City, and every single one of 'em'll bite my head off if I even _suggest_ they might think about tryin’ something different for once. So this one’s on me. Call it a reward for bein’ open to new experiences.’ He winked. ‘An’ if you still feel bad about it, then just come back n' find me another night, an’ remember to tip me real well the next time.’

He grinned up at Harry, a dazzling thing which lit up his face, and Harry was suddenly struck by just how very attractive the boy was.

He muttered some polite, near inaudible words of thanks and buried his nose in his drink, telling himself firmly that the sudden curl of warmth behind his breastbone was the alcohol and nothing more.

 

(Elsewhere, Merlin stared despairingly at the TV on which an earnest young reporter was bemoaning the sudden, fiery destruction of one of London’s oldest and most renowned theatres, and very gently and repeatedly beat his head against his desk.)

 

~


	2. Two (Kahlua, Midori and Baileys)

~

 

Harry glanced up at the post clock, back down at his wristwatch, and frowned, tapping the dial with one perfectly manicured finger. The hands remained stubbornly fixed at forty-five minutes ahead of the larger clock. It didn’t take much effort to put together the fact that he was now fifteen minutes _early_ for his assignation (rather than his usual half hour late) with the ‘routine equipment check’ he’d been subjected to earlier this morning and come up with ‘ _Merlin is an interfering little shit_ ’.

Well, he certainly wasn’t going to enter the rendezvous point any sooner than he absolutely had to. The less time he had to spend with Gabriel Dufresne, the better. Besides, Galahad had a reputation to maintain.

He scanned his surroundings, mentally triangulating his position from the local landmarks, and his mouth curled up in an amused smile.

Fifteen minutes later, at exactly the time he should have been sitting down to lunch with a notorious weapons designer, Harry strolled through the door of Eggsy’s bar. The young man was facing away from the counter, chatting amiably with a bar back as they restocked, but he twisted around at the sound of the door closing and beamed widely as he caught sight of Harry.

‘Good afternoon, Eggsy,’ Harry said politely, resolutely ignoring the fluttering feeling in his chest. Really, he was much too old to be feeling giddy just because a pretty boy was smiling at him.

‘Hello, you,’ Eggsy said, promptly abandoning his friend to amble over to the bar. ‘Here's a turn up for the books. Thought I might’ve scared you off after the last time.’

‘A gentleman always pays his debts,’ Harry said, a little primly. ‘Something strong and fast, if you’d be so good, dear boy.’

‘Day drinkin’ now, are we?’ Eggsy asked cheekily, already pulling a couple of shot glasses out.

‘As the saying goes, ‘it’s five o’clock somewhere’,’ Harry said drily. ‘Take pity. It would be a positive act of cruelty to force me to sit through this lunch meeting sober.’

‘Somehow I’m sensin’ you ain’t that fond of whoever you’re meetin’,’ Eggsy said, delicately constructing something layered and bright green in the glass before him.

‘Not in the slightest,’ agreed Harry. ‘He’s an odious, slimy little man with an overweening Napoleon complex and he inevitably propositions me at least twice during our negotiations.’

‘Well, I can’t really blame him for the last bit,’ Eggsy said, looking Harry up and down impudently. ‘Wait, is the problem more ‘cause he’s a bloke, or because he’s a bit of a tosser?’

‘Purely because of his personality, I assure you,’ Harry said. ‘I’d like to think I have better taste in men than him.’

‘So bribe or bully some other poor sod into doing the meet,’ Eggsy said, pushing the shooter over towards Harry, ‘an’ stay here 'n get pissed instead.’

‘Believe me, the thought crossed my mind,’ said Harry wistfully. ‘But apparently the man requested me specifically, and my colleague strong-armed me into it because, in his words, he owns my arse after all the times he’s had to cover for it.’

‘Hmm,’ said Eggsy thoughtfully. ‘I’d say stand 'im up an' stay for a couple more rounds, or be rude enough to ‘im that he stops askin’ for you, but I’m guessin’ he’s someone important?’

‘Sadly, yes,’ Harry sighed. ‘I work at a tailors’ on Savile Row, you see, and ghastly as the man is, he also happens to be one of the best designers in the business. Our shop uses his work in quite a few of our projects, and so in service of keeping him on good terms with us, I’m required to be charming no matter how many passes he makes at me.’ (It was a half truth; Dufresne did take commissions for Kingsman, but his work was rather more military than millinery.)

‘Well then, best solution I can offer is to make that a double,’ Eggsy said, pouring another shot, ‘and, I dunno, lie back an’ think of England.’

‘I’m noticing that all of your solutions seem to involve me staying here and buying more drinks,’ Harry said, quirking an eyebrow slightly.

‘Bartender’s motto,’ said Eggsy cheerfully. ‘The quickest way to a man’s heart is through his liver.’

In Harry’s line of work the quickest way to a man’s heart was usually between the ribs just left of his sternum, but he felt it would be impolitic to mention this just now.

He knocked back both shots swiftly, the taste of melon and coffee liqueur burning its way down his throat, and slid his card over to Eggsy, who picked it up, ignoring the generous cash tip Harry had set next to it.

‘Harry Hart,’ he read, looking up at the older man. ‘Huh. Always nice t'be able to put a name to the face.’

Harry firmly stamped down on the warm throb of lust that he felt at the sound of his name on Eggsy’s lips. The boy really was unfairly handsome, he thought, impish blue eyes peeking up at Harry through long, dark-blond eyelashes, shirt splayed at the collar to reveal a hint of pale, creamy skin at his throat. Beautiful – and much too young to be interested in Harry outside of some professional flirting.

He glanced at his watch and noted, with some satisfaction, that he was now running precisely thirty-five minutes late for his rendezvous with Dufresne.

‘I believe it’s time I was on my way,’ he said, slightly regretfully, as he rose from his chair. ‘Thank you for the drink, Eggsy, I may now be able to grit my teeth through this lunch without using the silverware to inflict grievous bodily harm.’

‘Any time, Harry,’ Eggsy said with a wave. ‘Always a pleasure t’ serve you.’

‘You ain’t half as subtle as you think you are, Eggs,’ Harry heard the other young man say _sotto voce_ as he made his exit.

‘Shut it, Jamal,’ Eggsy said out of the side of his mouth.

 

~


	3. Three (vodka, Amaretto, Triple Sec, Crème de cacao and cream)

~

 

‘Eggsy,’ Harry said one night, ‘How did you end up in a place like this?’

It was an astoundingly rude question, really, and one Harry would never have dreamed of asking if he’d been in his right mind, but – well, he wasn’t quite in his right mind at that moment, after all.

He wondered fleetingly whether the pleasant fuzzy feeling in his head and the way the room kept tilting sideways was due to the three shots of something chocolatey he’d just downed, or from the four pints of blood he’d lost earlier. Merlin was probably going to strangle him for climbing out the medical wing window only a few hours after being stabbed in the kidney, but really, the man should have known better than to leave Harry there unattended in the first place. Harry had always loathed hospitals.

He’d then promptly headed for Eggsy’s bar as he always did after missions these days, for reasons he didn’t care to examine too closely. He’d acquired rather a lot of those reasons by now, mostly revolving around Eggsy’s eyes and hands and smile.

‘You ain’t seriously tellin’ me I have to explain the facts of life to you at your age, are you, Harry?’ asked Eggsy laughingly. ‘Well, see, when a man, a woman, an’ a couple of expired condoms all love each other very much-‘

‘You know what I _meant_ ,’ Harry interrupted, pointing a finger unsteadily at the young bartender, or at least in his vague general direction. ‘You’re a smart young man, Eggsy, you have a wonderfully retentive memory, and you’re obviously well read – don’t try and deny it, we had an extended debate over fucking _Shaw_ just last week, for God’s sake. What are you doing working in a run-down bar for tips? Why aren’t you in university, or at least an apprenticeship, or-‘

‘Not all of us were lucky enough to be born with a silver spoon up our arses, Harry,’ Eggsy said, a tinge of rancor colouring the edges of his words. ‘Uni weren’t exactly within my family’s means, if you get me.’

‘There are scholarships,’ Harry said. ‘Surely your teachers could have helped-‘

‘Yeah, no,’ said Eggsy, scrubbing intently at a spot on a bar and not meeting Harry’s eyes. ‘Dunno what the teachers at your posh public school were like, but mine were more the ‘drinkin’ away the days till retirement’ sort. None of ‘em were too keen on goin’ out of their way t’ help a scrawny troublemaker with a smart mouth and allegedly sticky fingers.’

‘You were a pickpocket?’ asked Harry.

‘ _Allegedly_ ,’ Eggsy said loftily, passing Harry another shot, his fingers brushing against the older man’s. ‘They never managed to prove anythin’. Not for lack of tryin’, mind.’

‘Which means that either the accusations were false, or you were just that good,’ said Harry, looking thoughtfully at the young bartender. ‘Which was it, then?’

Eggsy grinned. ‘I dunno,’ he said, spinning a familiar looking gold signet ring around his index finger. ‘You tell me, bruv.’

Harry blinked.

‘Well, you’re full of surprises,’ he said.

‘As surprising as it might be t’you, I weren’t always the paragon of virtue you see before you,’ Eggsy said drily, passing the ring back to him. ‘When your arsehole of a stepdad walks out an’ leaves you livin’ hand to mouth with a baby sister to help support, you pretty much do anythin’ you can to get by, even if it means walkin’ on the shady side of the law.’

Harry couldn’t really argue with that.

‘Anyway, I never got done for the pickpocketin’,’ Eggsy continued, ‘but I did get done for auto theft after this arsehole made a crack about my mum an' I lifted his keys an’ took his car for a spin, an’ that was pretty much it for any job prospects I had. Wouldn’t have even gotten _this_ job if Roxy hadn’t put in a good word for me.’

‘Roxy?’ asked Harry sharply. He suddenly realised he’d never even asked if the younger man had a girlfriend. The way Eggsy flirted with him, he’d just assumed -

‘Roxanne Morton,’ Eggsy said, a fond, affectionate look on his face, and Harry felt a wild surge of completely irrational jealousy. ‘You wouldn’t’ve met her yet, she’s workin’ her way through her law degree, so she only helps out Friday an’ Saturday nights, when it’s proper busy – you always seem to come in at the weirdest fuckin' hours,’ he added.  

‘How did you two happen to meet?’ asked Harry carefully, trying to feel out exactly what this girl Roxanne meant to Eggsy.

‘Well now, _there’s_ a story,’ Eggsy grinned, propping himself against the bar. ‘See, everyone knows posh girls love a bit of rough, yeah? Same goes for posh boys. So a while back, I was sort of seein’ this bloke, Charlie – not the high point of my datin’ life, in retrospect,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Unbelievable arse, in both senses of the phrase. Mouth like a hoover, though,’ he added nostalgically, and Harry nearly choked on his fifth – or was it sixth? – shot.

‘Anyway,’ Eggsy continued, ‘Charlie an’ me and his mates decided to hit up this club one night, yeah? Charlie’s told them all about my sordid past, o’ course, ‘cause isn’t it _scandalous_ , Charlie’s taken up with a _felon_ , won’t it just drive Mummy and Daddy _wild_.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘We’d all had a few by that point, so when Charlie made some cringey innuendo-filled crack about my ‘gifted fingers’ one of ‘em – I think it was Rufus, that wanker – immediately said there was no way some little chav could be _that_ good an’ challenged me to prove it, an’ I was just drunk enough to take him up on it.’ He grimaced slightly. ‘Poor decisions all around at that time o’ my life, really. So I find this girl out on the dancefloor with an iPhone stickin’ out of the back pocket of her jeans, an’ I lift it without her noticin’, hold it up so the others can see, an’ go to put it back. ‘Cept then Charlie shoves me just as I’m slippin’ the phone back in the girl’s pocket, so I end up with my hand planted square on her arse instead, an’ she doesn’t miss a beat – just whips round and belts me straight in the eye.’

Harry didn’t speak. He was torn between wanting to hear the end of Eggsy’s story and a very, very strong urge to find this ‘Charlie’ and his friends and punch each of them in their no doubt receding chins. He compromised by drinking yet another shot.

‘Anyway, this girl looks down at me on the floor, lookin’ absolutely panicked an’ tryin’ desperately to apologise, then at Charlie an’ his mates, who’re laughin’ like a pack of hyenas. An’ she just rolls her eyes and tells me ‘You can do better’, loud enough for ‘em to hear. An’ then she dragged me off to a corner, sat me down, bought me a beer, and found me an icepack for my shiner. An’ that’s how I met Roxy Morton,’ he concluded. ‘Best mate a bloke could ask for.’

Harry was drunk enough to be aware he was probably about to say something horribly awkward like ‘ _It’s lovely you have a close female friend who you’re definitely not fucking,_ ’ or possibly ‘ _I’m so glad you like cock as well_ ’, but the bar stool seemed to be slipping out from under him and he found himself unexpectedly parallel to the floor, only someone’s hand around his upper arm stopping him from faceplanting into the stained floorboards.

‘And I think that’s my cue t’ cut you off, bruv,’ said Eggsy’s voice, sounding closer than it had a moment ago, and oh, that was Eggsy’s hand on his arm, warm even through the bulletproof fabric of his jacket and shirt.

‘Nonsense,’ said Harry, struggling to stand upright. His legs didn’t seem to want to comply, which was terribly frustrating. ‘I like these drinks, they taste like chocolate oranges. I’ll have another, if you please.’

‘Much as I’d love t’tell you ‘I’ll give you as many of those as you want,’ Harry,’ said Eggsy, an odd note of amusement in his voice, ‘I think you’ve had enough for the night, yeah? I’ll call you a cab, just lemme know where you live-’

‘I can’t go home right now,’ Harry said sharply, surprising both of them a little with the vehemence of his reaction. It was childish of him, he knew, but the image of his house had leapt into his mind, looking as it always did after a long mission away - everything covered in a light film of dust, the house cold and echoingly empty no matter how many knick-knacks he filled it with, because Harry was alone, had been alone since Mr. Pickle died -

‘I can’t go home,’ he repeated, softer this time.

‘Christ,’ Eggsy muttered. ‘All right, come on then, it’s okay. I’ll take care of you, yeah?’ He mumbled something under his breath that sounded like _and don’t I wish I was sayin’_ that _under different circumstances_ , but his voice was so low Harry was sure he must have misheard him.

The next thing Harry knew, Eggsy’s arm was around his waist, strong and secure, his own arm slung around the younger man’s broad shoulders as Eggsy guided his arrhythmic steps through the staff door.

‘There’s a couch in the tea room,’ Eggsy explained, huffing slightly from the effort of dragging Harry’s mostly dead weight along. ‘It’s a horrible piece of shit, but you can at least get your head down for a bit, yeah? Just don’t complain if it ain’t quite up to your usual standards.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be perfectly adequate,’ Harry said. He’d spent the last week sleeping on sandy gravel in the Gobi desert.

‘You say that now,’ Eggsy said, his face openly dubious, ‘You must’ve really pissed off your missus if you'd rather kip in the back room here than go home.’

‘No missus,’ Harry corrected, turning his head towards Eggsy’s. They were pressed so closely together that his lips brushed Eggsy’s cheek as he spoke, and he wondered if he was imagining the way the young bartender shivered slightly at the touch. ‘No one. That’s why.’

Eggsy still looked doubtful, but he helped Harry down onto the worn velour settee, nudging a stained and torn pillow under his head. Harry sighed and closed his eyes, vaguely aware of something heavy and warm being tucked around his shoulders.

He thought he felt Eggsy’s fingers brush lightly through his hair, but by then he was already almost unconscious.

 

~

 

Harry woke up with a crick in his neck, a truly dreadful black and yellow jacket draped over him, and a relentless headache battering at one temple. His mouth felt and tasted like an outhouse carpet. There was a muffled, rhythmic thumping noise from outside, from which he deduced that he’d been passed out for several hours and the bar was now in the full swing of its evening business.

He lifted his head, blearily focusing on the pint glass full of water and half empty pack of paracetamol which had been set on a nearby table alongside his glasses. A yellow Post-It note was stuck to the glass.

 

_Left the side door open in case you didn’t want to walk back through the bar. I dunno what sober Harry’s musical tastes are like, but I’m betting hungover Harry ain’t a huge fan of trance._

_I’ll keep your tab open and you can settle it up next time you’re in. :)_

_\- E_

 

Harry stared at the note for a long moment, then carefully peeled it off and placed it in his pocket. Purely so he’d remember to settle his tab the next time, of course.

He debated briefly with himself over the merits of catching a cab at this hour of the night versus attempting the walk back to the mews given his current state of intoxication, plus – damn – a couple of stitches which he seemed to have burst, and finally just turned his glasses back on.

 _‘Harold Albert Fitzwilliam Hart, if you are calling to tell me that you’re bleeding out in a gutter somewhere, I will eviscerate you with my bare hands and hang your body from the clocktower as an example to your successor,’_ Merlin snarled almost immediately.

‘And a very good evening to you too, Merlin,’ Harry said mildly, ‘Requesting extraction from my current location, if you please, and Nimue’s presence in the medical bay with one of her famous hangover cures.’

‘ _Hangover – are you_ drunk _?!’_ Merlin demanded. There was the rapid-fire rattle of a keyboard in the background. _‘You’re in a bar. Of course you bloody are. You get stabbed in the back, get rushed to surgery, and the first thing you do once you regain consciousness is sneak out and get fucking hammered.’_

‘No, I _was_ drunk,’ Harry corrected. ‘Now I’m merely hungover, and if you’d very kindly refrain from shouting?’

‘ _You are a menace to yourself and society,_ ’ Merlin said flatly. _‘You’re lucky I don’t break out a damned vuvuzela. How did you even manage to get plastered so fast? You drank the head of the Bratva under the table just last month.’_

‘It was a mathematical error,’ Harry said, rubbing his temple. ‘I failed to account for the fact that one’s blood alcohol level rises twice as fast when one has only half the usual amount of blood,’

‘ _You’re the reason I have no hair left_ ,’ Merlin said.

‘Don’t be dramatic, we both know that you were balding long before you ever joined Kingsman. I even have the photos to prove it,’ Harry said, pulling himself upright with some difficulty. ‘However, I plead no contest on the matter of your stress ulcers.’

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaargh I am so sorry for the delay, guys. Real life got in the way, and then this chapter ended up longer than expected. Updates may be a bit sporadic for the next month or so.
> 
> This chapter’s drink has a lot of variants, so I went with one of the Wikipedia-listed variations. (Extra fandom cookies for anyone who gets Harry’s middle names, or why they might be debating Shaw. Today’s flavour is Canon Chocolate Chip.)
> 
> Also everyone has seen the new poster for Kingsman 2 that Taron tweeted, yes? I maaay have fangirl screamed in public when I saw it.


	4. Four (coconut rum, triple sec, lime juice, grenadine, 7-Up and Baileys with a cherry on top)

~

 

Things didn’t change after that night, much to Harry’s relief.

He’d been more than half afraid that they would, the first time he’d returned to the bar. Harry had spent most of his adult life cultivating his poise like a suit of armour, shielding his true feelings with gentility and defending himself with a razor-sharp wit. For him to have let the façade drop enough for Eggsy to see the somewhat lonely middle-aged man underneath – it would hardly have been more embarrassing if the boy had seen him naked.

But Eggsy had barely even let him get three words into his awkward attempt at an apology before cutting him off. ‘S’fine,’ he’d said, flapping a hand at Harry in a cheerful dismissal. ‘You ain’t the first bloke to get legless and lonely at the end of the night, guv, an’ you won’t be the last.’

 _That_ had stung, more than the young man had presumably intended. Harry knew that Eggsy flirted with everyone almost on reflex, had seen his charm in action on other patrons many times, but a treacherous, hopeful corner of his mind had always thought that perhaps the smiles he directed at Harry were a little warmer, the looks he gave him a little more affectionate. To be told he was just one of many crushed that fragile hope ruthlessly underfoot.

Still, Eggsy was obviously fond enough of him. Whenever Harry dropped in, at whatever odd hour of the night or day, Eggsy would come up to him, smiling brightly, slide some outrageous sugary-sweet concoction across the bar, and the two of them would chat endlessly about everything and nothing - Eggsy’s mother and sister, Roxy’s university woes, Harry’s latest international jaunt (carefully edited for discretion’s sake, of course) - until someone else rapped on the bar for Eggsy’s attention.

Harry could be satisfied with that, he thought. If Eggsy’s feelings for him were purely platonic, then there was simply no point in him declaring his unrequited love like an 80’s romantic movie lead and ruining the comfortable rapport they had built. They could have a perfectly pleasant friendship without Harry’s really quite inconvenient (and growing) infatuation getting in the way.

It only took a few weeks for his completely logical and sensible plan to go straight to hell.

 

~

 

For all that Harry meticulously maintained the physical fitness and agility of a much younger agent ( _and the self-control of a hyperactive toddler,_ as Merlin often liked to grouse), he was still on the wrong side of forty-five, and the jetlag from a transcontinental flight across multiple timezones hit him harder than it had used to, even with the benefit of a Kingsman-issue jet. Which was why it wasn’t until the pneumatic shuttle had decanted him at the Savile Row shop and he’d wandered all the way to Eggsy’s bar that he realised it was a Saturday night.

Harry forced his way through the raucous, teeming horde of people with a judicious application of elbows and caught sight of Eggsy almost immediately down the other end of the bar. The younger man caught his eye and winked but didn’t come over, busy trying to talk a twit in a public school tie out of something called a ‘Cement Mixer’.

Harry stood uncomfortably by the bar, being rudely jostled by chattering youngsters in clubwear of variable skimpiness (good God, were those _vinyl hotpants_?) and contemplated making a tactical retreat. Eggsy was obviously busy, he should come back another time – but Harry had a mission in Minsk the day after tomorrow, and he was loath to waste what little time he had with the young bartender.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ an unfamiliar voice broke in on his thoughts, and Harry looked up to see a pretty young girl in the same black vest as Eggsy, dark blonde hair swept back in a severe ponytail.

‘You must be Roxanne,’ he said, extending a hand to her across the bar. ‘My name is Harry Hart. I’m –‘

‘- one of Eggsy’s regulars, I know,’ she interrupted, smiling. ‘Call me Roxy, I’ve heard so much about you I feel like I know you. Is there anything I can get you while you’re waiting for him?’

Harry hesitated, casting a glance down the bar at Eggsy again, but the younger man was still engrossed in his argument, gesticulating with a lime in one hand and a bottle of Baileys in the other.

‘A drink would be lovely,’ he said. Roxy waited expectantly, and Harry realised, belatedly, that he’d never thought to ask the name of any of the cocktails Eggsy had made for him over the past few months. He fumbled his way through a description of the first one that came to mind, a red and white concoction which had looked uncomfortably like the aftermath of one of his more recent missions but had tasted refreshingly of coconut and citrus.

‘Coconut rum and limes?’ Roxy mused, her brow wrinkling. ‘It sounds familiar, I just can’t…oh!’ she said brightly, recognition dawning on her face, her voice loud in an unexpected lull in the noise. ‘You want ‘Sex with the Bartender’!’

Over her shoulder, Harry saw Eggsy suddenly freeze, a look of absolute horror on his face.

‘I’m sorry?’ Harry said weakly, unsure that he’d heard her correctly.

‘’Sex with the Bartender’,’ Roxy repeated, her hands already busy with the bottles. ‘It’s the name of the cocktail. Coconut rum, triple sec, lime juice, grenadine and 7-Up, with a splash of Baileys down the middle. Here you go.’ She pushed a Collins glass filled with a familiar red and white melange towards him.

Harry stared at it, then took a cautious sip. It was, unquestionably, the same drink.

‘So,’ he began slowly, ‘ah, just for my own edification, if I asked you for a cocktail with whisky, sloe gin, orange juice and vanilla-‘

‘- you’d be asking me for a Long Slow Comfortable Screw Up Against The Wall,’ Roxy said, not batting an eyelid at the ridiculous name.

‘Or I wanted a brown and green layered shot which tasted like melon-‘

‘-then you want a Quick Fuck.’

‘And…’ Harry hesitated, remembering a room hazy with alcohol and blood loss, a warm arm around his shoulders, and Eggsy’s voice, rough and amused, saying _‘I’ll give you as many of those as you want’_. ‘If you gave me a drink – or several drinks – made with cream, chocolate and orange liqueur…’

‘….Then I’d be giving you ‘Screaming Orgasms’.’ She tipped her head to one side. ‘Are you making a pass, sir? Because if so, I have to give you points for inventiveness.’

‘Regretfully not, my dear,’ Harry said, and Roxy made a disappointed little moue. ‘But,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘I’m beginning to suspect that someone else has been.’

He glanced down towards the other end of the bar again, but Eggsy was gone.

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don’t know what a [Cement Mixer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCId6b0bnpA) is: it’s a Baileys and lime juice cocktail that makes use of the fact that milk curdles in acids. 
> 
> If you’ve never tried it, don’t. Seriously. DO NOT TRY THIS DRINK.
> 
> (Also yes I am aware it is pretty much impossible to identify a cocktail from those vague descriptions. Roxy is just that good, okay?)


	5. Five (Blue Curacao, gin, white tequila, vodka and lemon juice)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaargh sorry for the hiatus again, everyone! I know, I’m the worst. I promise the final chapter won't be nearly as long a wait.

~

 

Harry loitered hopefully at the bar for another hour or so, but Eggsy didn’t reappear. He would have waited longer except that drink orders were coming thick and fast and even Roxy, who moved so fast her hands almost blurred with speed, was starting to look mildly harassed under the onslaught.

He returned the following week at an hour so late it was almost morning. He knew from experience that Eggsy was usually just closing up at that time, and would roll his eyes at Harry in affectionate exasperation and mix him up something violently neon out of a diabetic’s nightmares.

Except Eggsy wasn’t at the bar that night. Nor was he there the next night, or the night after that.

‘You just missed him,’ Roxy said apologetically, the fourth time that Harry turned up to find the bar inexplicably Eggsy-less. ‘He finished up early today - he’s been cutting back on his shifts.’

‘That doesn’t sound like him,’ Harry said, a small furrow of worry crinkling his forehead. Eggsy had once mentioned that he worked every shift that he could get, needing the extra money to help take care of – ‘Is Daisy all right?’ he asked abruptly.

‘Daisy’s fine,’ Roxy said slowly, a slightly odd look in her eyes. ‘Eggsy’s mentioned her before, has he?’

‘Frequently,’ Harry said with a faint smile. ‘He’s quite devoted to his ‘little flower’. She seems like a delightful child from the pictures I’ve seen.’

Roxy hummed noncommittally and looked Harry up and down consideringly until she appeared to reach some sort of conclusion.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘I know it’s not any of my business, but you really care about Eggsy, don’t you?’

Harry blinked at her. ‘Of course,’ he said, caught a little off guard by the abrupt change in topic. ‘He’s a very charming young man.’

‘And what, exactly, do you want from my best friend?’ Roxy demanded, arms folded over her chest.

‘Nothing more than he’s willing to give,’ Harry said carefully. ‘I’m merely….I am very fond of him. And I would like to spend more time with him, if he’s amenable to that.’

‘All right, then,’ Roxy said, and Harry had the strange feeling he’d passed some kind of test. ‘Eggsy’s working swing shift tomorrow night, starting at five. If you turn up then, I’ll make sure he doesn’t run for it before you two have a chance to talk.’

 

~

 

At five o’clock promptly the following evening Harry was seated at the bar, idly watching droplets of condensation collecting on the glass before him.

It was almost absurd, really, he mused. As Galahad, he had seduced scores of women and men around the world with a suavity which would have had James Bond gnashing his teeth. In the last year alone, he’d flirted his way into a French financier’s pants (and vault), wheedled a Washington power broker into some moving and shaking, and beguiled a Belgian royal into letting him handle the family jewels. And yet here he was sitting in a shabby Soho bar, with his heart pounding in his chest and hands that had been rock-steady on a sniper rifle only hours earlier trembling as he waited for a boy half his age.

Perhaps that was it, though. He wasn’t approaching Eggsy as Galahad, dashing gentleman spy. He was simply here as Harry Hart, a middle-aged tailor with an odd penchant for taxidermy and an appallingly barren social life. And there hadn’t been anyone for Harry Hart in a very long time.

Right on time, Eggsy burst through the staff door, ducking under the hinged service flap with the ease of long practice. He glanced around, froze as he caught sight of Harry, then turned on his heel only to find that Roxy had drifted into his path, nonchalantly cutting off his exit. Harry saw him shoot the girl a look of absolute betrayal which she returned with a flat, completely unimpressed stare until Eggsy gave up and slouched over to the corner where Harry was sitting.

‘Heya, Harry,’ he said, his tone deliberately casual. ‘Don’t look like you need my help pickin’ a drink tonight, eh?’ He nodded at the aquamarine cocktail sitting on the countertop.

‘Actually, my dear boy,’ Harry said, pushing the drink towards the younger man, ‘this one is for you.’

‘Fer me?’ Eggsy sniffed at the drink suspiciously, then took a cautious sip. ‘It’s…blue curacao, obviously, an’ lemon, an’…tequila?’

‘And gin, and vodka. It’s called a ‘Take Me Home’,’ Harry said quietly. ‘Your friend Roxanne helped me make it for you.’

Eggsy remained silent, not meeting Harry’s eyes.

Harry had planned all of this out very carefully. He wasn’t dense enough to have missed that Eggsy had been avoiding him, was obviously embarrassed at being called out on his interest in Harry. Which was understandable. Eggsy had a city full of bright young things his own age to choose from – there was no reason he’d want to tie himself down to a man who, while objectively still quite handsome, was old enough to be his father. Most likely, he was worried that Harry would think his cocktail come-ons meant something more than they did.

The key was, then, to keep it light. He wouldn’t tell Eggsy how his very presence made Harry’s world seem brighter, how his smiles made Harry’s heart tighten almost painfully in his chest, how Harry had never wanted anyone else the way he wanted him. Perhaps, then, Harry could get at least a brief facsimile of what he wanted (Eggsy in his bed, smiling sleepily at him in the morning sunlight; Eggsy in his home, curled up against him on the couch or pressing kisses messily behind Harry’s ear as he cooked) without ruining their friendship when the younger man inevitably got bored with him and broke it off.

Harry was selfish enough to take what he could get.

‘It took me a while to realise you were…attracted to me,’ he said carefully to Eggsy, gesturing at the cocktail in front of him. ‘And it’s surely not a surprise that I feel similarly about you. But we both know that… physical attraction doesn’t necessarily mean there must be deeper feelings involved. So if you would like for us to get acquainted in a more intimate setting – no commitments, of course, no strings attached -‘

‘-No,’ Eggsy interrupted, looking horrified. ‘Harry, that’s – that ain’t what I want at _all_.’

Harry’s heart dropped into his stomach with a sickening lurch.

‘You know the whole thing with the drinks was just a joke, right?’ Eggsy continued. ‘I mean-‘ He waved his hand between them, the meaning of the gesture clear: _look at you, and then look at me_.

Harry stood so fast he knocked over the drink still sitting on the bar, blue liqueur spilling across the polished surface, and bolted for the exit. He distantly heard Eggsy saying his name through the burning haze of humilliation, felt the boy’s hand clutching at his sleeve, but he shook it off and kept running, not stopping until he was safely ensconced in the pneumatic shuttle heading to the Kingsman mansion. He slumped to the floor, chest still heaving, and curled up in a ball, resting his head between his knees.

God, he needed a drink.

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! This is the end of the Harry/Eggsy section of the fanfic. From here on out, we go into the real pairing, which is forty thousand words of Harry/forever alone.
> 
> *runs*
> 
> (I’m kidding, I’m kidding! I promise! Put the torches and pitchforks _down _.)__


	6. Six (gin and vermouth)

~

 

The Kingsmen, by and large, tended towards obsessive-compulsive perfectionism, which was why no one batted an eye when Galahad marched into the shooting range and proceeded to spend the better part of an hour unloading clip after clip into a succession of targets, his shots all clustered neatly over the heart.

By the second hour, people were beginning to eye him a bit strangely. By the third, they were talking in low murmurs and edging away. By the fourth, Harry had the range completely to himself.

Merlin came in at one point, squinted at Harry searchingly, and then wordlessly clapped him comfortingly on the shoulder and left, because Merlin had always been a much better friend than Harry had ever deserved.

Hours later, after he’d finally exhausted their supply of targets, Harry trudged back home, breath steaming in the chilly night air. Somehow, he still didn’t feel any better.

Something tingled at his senses as he approached his house and he slowed, his hand drifting towards the butt of his pistol as he spotted the shapeless figure huddled on his stoop. His first thought was that it was some enterprising vagrant – no enemy agent would choose such an obvious location except as a decoy, and he didn’t sense anyone else nearby – but then the person shifted, and the streetlights caught a familiar black-and-yellow pattern on the sleeve of their jacket.

Harry exhaled as Eggsy uncurled himself and looked up at him. He wanted to say so many things – _please go, I can’t be around you right now, it hurts too much_ or _isn’t it strange how I still want to kiss you senseless even after you rejected me,_ or _can we just pretend today never happened, I don’t want to lose you even if we’ll only ever be friends_. What actually came out of his mouth, though, was: ‘How on earth did you know where I live?’

Eggsy wordlessly held up a worn leather billfold between two fingers. Harry’s hand flew to his pocket as his mind flashed back to the bar earlier, Eggsy grabbing at his sleeve as he tried to stop him from leaving.

‘Thought you’d realise it was gone sooner,’ Eggsy said, his voice hoarse from the cold. ‘I came straight here, after….after what happened. Wanted to talk to you.’

‘Talk, then,’ said Harry, crossing his arms. There was a long moment of silence.

‘It started out as a joke,’ Eggsy finally muttered, and Harry nearly turned and walked away right then. ‘You just walked into the bar one day, all fit as fuck, with your gorgeous brown eyes an’ your gorgeous posh voice an’ your fucking _amazin’_ legs in that suit, an’ you were so obviously out o’ my league that I made you that stupid drink as a joke, ‘cause I knew you wouldn’t get it, an’ that way I could. Kind of. Say somethin’ without actually sayin’ somethin’,’ he mumbled. ‘Cause why would someone like you want a chavvy bartender with a police record? I figured you’d drink it, an’ leave, an’ I’d never see you again.’

‘But then you kept comin’ back,’ Eggsy continued, tipping his head back, a flush creeping over his cheek, ‘an’ it turned out you weren’t just hot, you were kind, an’ smart, an’ just enough of an arsehole to deal with me – an’ you _cared_ ,’ he added. ‘You cared about what happened to me, an’ to Mum, an’ Daisy – I never tell anyone about ‘em, not ever, not after what happened last time with Dean. But I told you.’

‘But you were still so far above me, I didn’t think you’d ever care about me in… in the way I was startin’ to care about you,’ Eggsy pushed on. ‘An’ so even though I knew you liked the look of me – I’ve worked a bar for seven years, I can tell when someone’s checkin’ me out – I never said anythin’. ‘Cause I knew you were lonely, Harry, what with how your fuckin’ job sends you to the arse ends of the earth all the time, an’ I didn’t… I didn’t want you to fuck me just so you wouldn’t be lonely any more. I didn’t want t' have you if it didn’t mean anythin’ to you, because it would’ve meant somethin’ to _me_. So I just kept makin’ the stupid drinks, just so I could keep tellin’ you, even if you didn’t know I was, that I….that I…..’

‘That you what?’ Harry prompted, as the boy lapsed into silence.

‘That I….fuck it,’ Eggsy muttered, and yanked Harry down into a kiss.

Eggsy’s lips and nose were cold, and he tasted faintly of smoke and cheap vodka. He kissed Harry like he was drowning, like he was trying to pull the air from his lungs, harsh and fervent and a little desperate, as if this was the only chance he would ever get. He finally pulled back just a little, chest heaving, and gazed up at Harry with an expression of mingled hope and defiance.

Harry gently extricated himself from their embrace and Eggsy’s face crumbled, heartbreak and resignation writ large in his eyes. Harry reached past the younger man to unlock his front door and stepped into the foyer, flicking on the lights. He half turned and looked back over his shoulder at Eggsy, still standing forlornly on the stoop.

‘Well?’ he said, eyebrows raised. ‘Come on in, then. Let me show you how to make a proper martini.’

A slow, genuine smile broke over Eggsy’s face, as bright as the sun coming up.

‘ _Yes_ , Harry,’ he breathed, and stepped forward over the threshold.

 

~

 

‘So,’ said Roxy slyly the next day, glancing between Harry, who hid his smile behind a pint of Guinness, and Eggsy, who was whistling cheerfully as he polished glasses. ‘I take it the talk went well, then?’

‘A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, Rox,’ said Eggsy chidingly, then grinned widely. ‘Which is why I’m just gonna have to show you instead.’

And he poured shot after shot after shot of Screaming Orgasms until Roxy, laughing, chucked a bar rag at his head.

 

~

**End**

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone nitpicks me for not being able to count: Roxy technically made the Take Me Home, so it’s not counted in the 4+1! TECHNICALITIES.
> 
> And we're done! Thank you to everyone who's been following along with this. I think there will probably be an epilogue at some point. :)


	7. Epilogue (Pernod, gold tequila, pineapple juice, orange juice and orgeat syrup)

~

 

‘Shit,’ Harry said, staring down at the sheaf of papers he was holding. ‘Fucking missed it. How did I fucking miss it?’

 _‘Having problems, Galahad?’_ said Merlin over the glasses, sounding only mildly bored. _‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know, a lot of men your age have performance issues. Or so I’m told.’_

‘What- firstly, you are _seven months_ younger than me, Merlin, and secondly, you know the mission is going perfectly smoothly, you’ve been on comms with me the whole time,’ Harry snapped, throwing the sheaf of offending paperwork into the roaring incinerator in front of him. ‘The don and his capos are still sleeping off the taser ring upstairs, all the data relating to their little arms-trading-and-extortion cottage industry has been uploaded to you, and the hard copies are withering into ash as we speak. Although I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised your memory appears to be going, seeing as you sent me off on an international mission on _my fucking anniversary_.’

 _‘It’s a milk run, Harry. Factor in the timezone difference, and if you stop whinging and actually do your job, you’ll be back by teatime,’_ said Merlin, and then after a beat, _’Wait. You forgot your anniversary?’_

One of the guards lying prone on the basement floor groaned slightly, his eyelids twitching as he struggled his way back towards consciousness; Harry kicked him judiciously in the head and the man slumped back down again, his hand falling away from his pistol.

‘I’m a terrible boyfriend,’ Harry mourned.

 _‘You really are,’_ said Merlin unsympathetically. _‘I don’t know how Eggsy puts up with you.’_

‘This is the _fifth time_ I’ve missed an important date for a mission,’ Harry continued, shovelling another armful of ledgers into the furnace. ‘I missed his _birthday party_ last month, after I _promised_ him I’d attend, because I was holed up in that ghastly gulag in North Korea. I’m running out of excuses, Merlin.’

 _‘Well,’_ said Merlin. _‘You could always just tell him what you actually-‘_

‘-Absolutely not.’

 _‘Harry,’_ said Merlin, and Harry could _hear_ the long suffering face he was making. _‘You’ve been with Eggsy for two years now. Two. Full. Years. Which, admittedly, is a lot longer than anyone in the agency expected, several of the knights lost money in that pool, but that’s not the point. Kingsman protocol says that agents in a stable, committed relationship of that duration or longer are permitted to-‘_

‘-I’m not telling Eggsy I’m a spy,’ interrupted Harry. ‘He’s a _civilian_. The minute I told him, he’d be in danger from our enemies. Ignorance is bliss, Merlin, and I plan to keep Eggsy as happy as I possibly can.’

 _‘I think you’re not giving the boy enough credit,’_ said Merlin. _‘I know I’ve only met him a few times, but he seemed resourceful enough to wriggle his way out of a sticky situation if need be.’_

‘Yes, well, that’s a risk I’d rather not have to take,’ Harry said. ‘As far as I’m concerned, this information is need-to-know. I’ll tell him when he needs to know, and not a second before.’

There was silence on the other end of the line, which stretched out for a long, interminable moment.

‘Merlin?’

 _‘Ah, apologies, Galahad,’_ said Merlin, sounding slightly distracted. _‘Another situation just popped up, I was busy dealing with it for a second. Your capos have woken up, by the way, they’re just mustering the troops now. I give it about another minute before they realise what’s going on and come charging after you.’_

Harry swore under his breath, hurriedly throwing the last of the files into the fire and reaching for his guns.

 _‘And I still think that you should consider telling Eggsy,_ ’ added Merlin. _‘It’s not healthy to keep secrets like this in a relationship. How would you feel if your positions were reversed?’_

‘Your concerns have been taken on board, Merlin,’ said Harry, reloading as the sounds of angry shouting and running feet drew nearer, ‘and they will shortly be thrown over the side. Now do shut up and find me a reservation somewhere hideously expensive yet romantic, there’s a good chap.’

 

~

 

‘Hello, darling,’ Harry called out as he strolled into the bar, a bouquet of roses in one hand. ‘Any chance of a drink for a weary traveller?’

‘Be with you in a sec, sweetheart,’ Eggsy yelled back from one of the storage rooms, his voice slightly muffled. ‘How was your trip to the Italian branch?’

‘Terribly boring, I’m afraid,’ Harry said, seating himself at his usual stool in the corner. He placed the roses down on the bar top, carefully avoiding a puddle of spilled beer. ‘I had to spend all morning glad-handing the upper management, and then they gave me a huge pile of paperwork to take care of, which wouldn’t have been such a chore except their underlings kept barging in and interrupting me every few minutes.’

‘Sounds like shit, babe,’ Eggsy said, emerging from the back room and smacking a kiss against Harry’s cheek. ‘Lemme make you something to take the edge off, yeah?’

Harry watched with interest as Eggsy started pouring a cocktail he didn’t recognise. Since the two of them had gotten their act together, Eggsy had mostly settled into making Harry martinis whenever he dropped by, rather than his previous sugary abominations (‘Don’t need to drop hints about how I feel any more, do I?’ he’d said, a flush spreading prettily across his cheeks, and Harry had had to kiss it away to prove that no, he really didn’t). The only exceptions were when Eggsy had some kind of point - usually filthy - that he wished to get across, and Harry was momentarily distracted by a fond recollection of the previous month, when Eggsy had passed him a ‘Tie Me To The Bedpost’ with a look of such smouldering intensity that the barfly next to Harry had turned to him and said, with the gravitas of the truly drunk: ‘Mate, if you ain’t shaggin' that bloke tonight, I’m gonna hafta ask you to turn in your balls ‘cos you clearly ain’t using ‘em.’

‘By the way, a couple of blokes came lookin’ for you while you were away,’ Eggsy said offhandedly as he slid the drink over to Harry. ‘They’re tied up an’ unconscious in one of the back rooms, if you wanted to do somethin' about that.’

Harry blinked.

‘I’m sorry, come again?’ he asked, feeling like he’d missed an important conversational cue.

‘A bunch of cauliflower-eared goons came around askin’ about the posh git who comes in here a couple times a week, and were leanin’ pretty heavy on me to tell ‘em anythin’ I could about you or where you might work,’ Eggsy elaborated, with exaggerated patience. ‘They looked like bad news, an’ at least a few of them were packin’, so I ground benzos into their Guinness and Cokes an’ got Ryan to help me drag ‘em into the back.’

‘In heavens’ name, _why?_ ’ Harry managed, fingers tightening slightly around his glass. ‘Why on earth didn’t you just call the police?’

Eggsy shrugged. ‘I figured it was somethin’ to do with your spy stuff,’ he said vaguely. ‘Didn’t want to mess up anythin’ you had goin’ on by getting the flatfoots to make it all official.’

‘My _what?_ ’

Eggsy gave him a look that suggested Harry was being a bit slow on the uptake.

‘I’ve known you’re a spy since _forever_ , bruv,’ Eggsy said. ‘I mean. The first time we met the West End’d just caught fire, an’ you strolled in for a drink a few minutes after everyone else’d left to go rubberneck with scorch marks on your sleeves. Your shirts always smell of cordite. You keep a loaded shotgun in your brolly stand. An’ either you got an earpiece hidden in those glasses o’ yours or you need t’ see someone about the voices in your head, ‘cause you talk to yourself an awful lot when you think I’m not round.’

Harry gaped at him, briefly speechless.

‘So anyway, after I took care o’ this lot,’ Eggsy continued, jerking his thumb in the direction of the back room, ‘I called Merlin an’ asked him what he wanted me to do about it-‘

‘-How did you know that he worked with-‘

‘Both o’ you have the same gun calluses,’ Eggsy said, and Harry shut up. ‘Anyway, I asked Merlin if I should call you, an’ he told me you were busy but he’d make sure you came by straight after. He said ‘Let’s keep it need-to-know for now. I’ll tell him when he needs to know, and not a second before.’’

‘He said – _Merlin_ ,’ Harry snapped, and Merlin cackled ferociously in his ear.

 _‘What’s good for the goose is good for the gander,’_ he said. _‘Oh, by the way, Eggsy knows you’re a spy. Happy anniversary, you wanker,’_ and he cut the comms.

‘Ah,’ Harry said in realisation, taking off his glasses and staring at them. ‘So _that’s_ what it’s like having to deal with me. I owe Merlin an apology. And possibly also a thrashing.’

‘Aw, don’t be too hard on him, love,’ Eggsy said, pouring himself an identical cocktail to the one sitting neglected on the bar in front of Harry. ‘Merlin's a good mate. He's offered me a job with Kingsman after I graduate next year. Apparently, there’s some handsome bastard of an agent who’s pissed off every handler in the department with his shenanigans, an’ he figures I might be a good influence on ‘im.’

Eggsy raised his drink with a grin, Harry raising his as well out of reflexive politeness, and clinked their glasses lightly together.

‘It’s called an ‘Agent Suave’,’ Eggsy said, and winked at him.

 

~

**End**

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m gonna admit right off the bat; I mainly wrote this one so Merlin would have a chance to get back at Harry for once. XD
> 
> I wasn’t going to post this until after exams, but some lovely person nominated me for the [Kingsman Awards](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7853050?view_full_work=true), so I thought I’d upload this early as thanks. If you like this fic, please throw a vote at it! Voting closes on the 27th of November, EST. :)
> 
> Bonus drink reference: a Guinness and Coke is known as a Trojan Horse. I thought it was appropriate.
> 
> EDIT 30/11/16: Holy crap, this fic came in equal third for Best Hartwin! Thank you so, so much to everyone who voted for me - you guys all rock.

**Author's Note:**

> I got the inspiration for this one on a night out, trying to find something on the cocktail menu that I wasn’t going to be embarrassed asking for out loud, and the thought struck me that some of those drink names would be an awesome-slash-terrible way to hit on someone.
> 
> I’m not a huge connoisseur of booze, so feel free to tell me the most cheesy and innuendo-ridden drink names you know and if I like them I’ll work them into the fic. :)  
> Anyone who can guess the names of the drinks in-fic gets a virtual cookie! I’ll try and keep it fair description-wise, though regional differences may mess with it a bit.
> 
> EDIT 1/5/18: Amazing Русский translation by [Almamater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Almamater/pseuds/Almamater) [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/6746287)!


End file.
